


Bloodstone

by Northumbrian



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Cesarean Section, Childbirth, Gen, Have I put you off now?, Have I put you off yet?, It is!, Okay he was only on a chocolate frog card..., Other, Pre-Founders Era, Short, There's even a canon character mentioned, This is set in the Harry Potter Universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-10
Updated: 2016-06-10
Packaged: 2018-07-14 05:18:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7155281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Northumbrian/pseuds/Northumbrian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The year is CE 476. Cenau Redhair is a very long way from home, and she's in prison. While she doesn't want to die in front of the crowds at the Flavian Amphitheatre, escape seems impossible. Does her friend Rhea the falcon have a plan? </p>
<p>This is a story of the early days of magic, long before the founders.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bloodstone

**Bloodstone**

Rhea the Falcon screamed in agony.

Her pain-induced curses echoed around the arched brickwork of the hypogeum. She railed against the gods who’d given her such misfortune, she berated her jailers, and she even cursed the father of her unborn child; although guilt and remorse overwhelmed and silenced her the moment those final words left her lips.

Rhea’s husband, who was six months dead at the hands of a mob of witch-hunters, didn’t deserve her wrath. He had died trying to protect her. Rhea's offensive oaths ended with an exhausted exclamation as she attempted to endure her pain. Despite the apparent hopelessness of her situation, she took comfort in the presence of her only remaining friend. She had lost everything but her visions and the red-haired foreigner, Cenau.

The Flavian Amphitheatre, or the Coliseum—as folk were beginning to call it—had been much altered in the four hundred years since its completion. It was a building in decline, a mere shadow of its former self. The fine marble statues of the old gods and goddesses had been defaced, destroyed, or removed. Since Connstantine’s conversion, the Empire now followed a new religion. The gladiatorial contests which had, for centuries, taken place in the arena above Rhea's head were almost forgotten; they had ended more than a generation earlier. The epic mock sea battles from an earlier age of the Empire were little more than a myth.

The Amphitheatre was, however, still a place of death. Those unfortunate enough to be held captive in the hypogeum—the labyrinthine, graffiti-covered cells beneath the imposing old structure—knew that they were living on borrowed time. The empire was in decline, but they were still its prisoners. They could do nothing but lie in their cell, awaiting an inevitable encounter with wild animals. For centuries these spectacles had occurred. They invariably ended in bloody carnage, as they had done since their inception.

Even now, many centuries after its completion, some things within the Amphitheatre remained unchanged. The cells were, as they had always been, filled with people the state wanted dead. Some were political prisoners; unfortunate individuals who had fallen foul of the rich and powerful. Others, like Rhea—and her friend and cell mate, Cenau—were witches. Witch or Muggle, one thing was certain, they would remain incarcerated in the place until there were enough of them to create a spectacle, until the restless citixens demanded a spectacle. Like every other prisoner, Rhea knew that her life had already ended. Unlike her fellow prisoners, however, Rhea knew exactly when, where, and how. Even so, she wanted to know more. Despite her pain, she tried to see.

* * *

Cenau Red-hair was certain that her short life would soon end in violence and blood. Crouched in the squalid, stinking, cell, she tried to remember her cool and rugged homeland. She was certain she would never see it again, but she could feel it calling to her. Unfortunately, try as she might, its once-familiar fields and forests were almost impossible to see in the rank and dank darkness of the hypogeum.

She cursed her curiosity and thirst for adventure. They were the reasons she had agreed to accompany her elderly aunt Morna on the arduous journey from their homeland. As she thought back, Cenau shed a few tears for her aunt. Cenau, who had been both niece and apprentice to the elderly witch, had spent a year on the road with her. They had passed through wild forests, forded enormous rivers, and crossed between snow-capped mountains before they finally reached the greatest city in the known world, Rome.

By some miracle Cenau and Morna had arrived safely in the sprawling metropolis, where they hoped to learn more about the magic of metals. At first, they had been lucky, for only days after their arrival they had met Hannibal Sharp-sword and his woman, Rhea the Falcon. Hannibal was reluctant to discuss his past, but it was rumoured that he had stolen some goblin secrets. It was certainly true that his swords were reckoned to be the finest in Rome, and Cenau now knew the magic required.

Even being a fine sword-maker meant nothing. The empire was dying. The legions had long ago abandoned the wall of Emperor Hadrian, which lay many miles to the south of Cenau's home on the island the Romans called Brittania. Cenau’s grandfather had told her many tales of those foreign soldiers. The tales of his boyhood were wild stories about encounters with the last of the legions.

Before their departure Aunt Morna had assured her worried family that the heart of the empire was still beating strongly, but the old lady had been proved wrong. The Empire was not merely shrinking, it was dying and, in its death throes, it was lashing out.

Even in the capital there were factions, mobs, and an ever present sense of danger. The rabble-rousers among the mobs were always looking for scapegoats. Once, long ago, it had been the Christians. Now, however, the religion which the Emperor-Saint Constantine had embraced was in control. The empire which had once welcomed all gods was now enthralled by one. Somehow, in the dozen or so decades since Constantine’s death, the oppressed had become the oppressors and the witch hunts had begun.

Hannibal, as a swordsmith, had always enjoyed immunity from persecution. But the political winds were blowing wildly, and when the storm came, and the Emperor Romulus Augustulus was swept away, the mob finally came for the maker of magic swords. Hannibal, brave as his legendary namesake, had tried to save the three women of his house from the mob. His defence had been fearless, and his sword sharp. But his magic was limited and the mob was a hydra, every time one person fell to his sword, two more took their place. The sheer numbers in the crowd had doomed the swordsmith.

Only Rhea and Cenau had escaped from the conflagration the mob managed to start in Hannibal's forge. As the flames flickered and took hold, Hannibal had attempted to douse them. He’d used a water creating spell that Cenau did not know. The attempt had cost him his life; he had been cut down by the mob before he could extinguish the flames.

Rhea had wailed and screamed, and unleashed her might. She had wanted revenge, but the burning roof collapsed, crushing Morna, and separating the two young witches from the mob. The only exit for Rhea and Cerna had been from the rear of the shop, so they had leapt from the window into the River Tiber.

They might have escaped. Unfortunately, among the olive-skinned and dark-haired natives of Rome, Cenau's hair blazed like a beacon, instantly identifying her as an outsider. She, and the grief-stricken Rhea, had been captured when they attempted to flee the city a few days later. Since their capture, for almost six months, Cenau and her friend had languished in a stinking cell, sleeping on filthy straw and living on bread and water. And all the while Rhea's body had continued to swell with the new life growing within.

Staring down at her bloody hands Cenau brought herself back to the present. She wondered why, in these already hopeless circumstances, she was desperately trying to save a life, to save two lives. The blood covering Cenau's hands was Rhea's, not her own. Crouched on soiled straw between the spread legs of her friend, she worked and sweated in the sultry Mediterranean heat.

Would Rhea's death here be any worse than a death in the arena above, she wondered.

'I cannot turn the child, Rhea,' she said desperately, blinking back tears of fear from her eyes.

As the next contraction took hold, Rhea's eyes rolled up into her head. Instead of the curses Cenau expected, Rhea fell still and silent; she didn't even breathe. For a fright-filled instant, Cenau thought that her friend was going to leave her. In that fear-filled instant Cenau knew that, no matter what, she did not want to be alone in their cell.

After Rhea's constant stream of curses, the Roman witch’s sudden silence was deafening. Cenau’s panic vanished as quickly as it had arrived; she knew what was happening.

The dimly flickering light from the corridor wasn't much, but it was enough to assure Cenau that her friend was having one of her visions. Rhea's brief glimpses into the future inevitably occurred at an inconvenient time, but this was the worst possible moment.

The vision's ending was signalled by Rhea's deep and ragged inhalation of the fetid prison air. The pregnant woman relaxed; her contractions eased, and her falcon-brown eyes blazed.

'You must cut me, Canau,' Rhea ordered. 'My child will be born; she must be born, even if she must be pulled from my belly after the fashion of the great Julius Caesar.'

'I cannot,' Cenau replied.

'You must,' Rhea stated forcefully. 'I had hoped that it would not come to this, but my child must be born.'

Rhea's flailing hand grasped the wrist of her friend, and she stared into Cenau's bright green eyes. 'I have the sight, Cenau, my friend, you know that! I have had a seeing. My daughter will grow up in the far north, in your land, and she will be mother to the greatest wizard your island home will ever see. But to fulfil her destiny, my daughter must first be free of my womb. You must cut me.'

'I said I cannot, because I ... can ... not,' Cenau replied with equal force. 'Even if you could persuade me, I have nothing with which to cut. We are in prison, Rhea. What do you expect me to use, my teeth?'

'The bag,' Rhea said. 'The bag I had concealed. The bag you found when this torment began. Open it.'

Cenau scrabbled through the dirty straw on the floor and found the bag. It was a small leather pouch, still wet from Rhea's broken waters, and it was fastened closed by a drawstring. With shaking hands, Cenau unfastened the knot, and shook out the contents into her palm.

The pouch contained two small items. She gazed first at the green gemstone. It was the size of her thumbnail, and dappled with specks and splashes of deep ruby red. In the dim light of the hypogeum, Cenau mistook the marks on the stone for blood, and attempted to rub the gem clean.

'It is a heliotrope, a bloodstone,' Rhea explained. 'You cannot wipe it clean, for the blood runs through it. You will need the stone later. But now we need the claw of my ancestor. I need you now, Cenau, more than ever. Your life, and the life of my daughter, depends upon it. Will you make the vow with me, Cenau? Will you make the promise which cannot be broken? Will you swear to help me, to look after my child?'

'We are imprisoned, Rhea,' said Cenau hopelessly. 'In a few days, weeks at most, we will be sent into the arena. Your poor child will live no longer than will you or I.'

'You will live long, Cenau, my friend,' Rhea told her. 'I see it. I see children, and grandchildren, for you; but only if you make the promise which cannot be broken, the... What is the word in your language?'

'Geas,' Cenau answered, as a flame of hope flickered in her heart. 'We call it geas and, if it will save our lives, I will undertake the geas with you, Rhea. What must I do?'

'Give me the talon,' Rhea ordered. 'Without wands, we must use the old way, we must bind ourselves with blood. Open it, please.'

Cenau looked down at the other item. The tiny bronze cylinder was the length of a finger bone, and no greater in diameter. As Cenau examined it, she realised that it opened. It was two cylinders, screwed together. She cautiously removed the cap, revealing a tiny talon from some bird of prey. The talon was firmly held in the larger part of the cylinder, and Cenau carefully handed it to her friend.

Clenching her teeth, Rhea pushed herself backwards and leaned against the damp brick wall. Taking the talon in her left hand she used it to cut her right palm. With her now bleeding hand, she beckoned her friend closer, and motioned for the redhead to extend her own right hand. Cenau did as she'd been bidden, and Rhea sliced the younger girl's palm with the talon. Grasping Cenau's bloody hand in her own, Rhea squeezed it tightly; their palms met, and their blood mingled.

'I am Rhea, called the falcon, daughter of Aristarchus, also called the falcon, who was scion of the first shapeshifter, Falco Aesalon. Like my forebears, I carry the blood of the falcon. Like my forebears, I was born in the Imperial Province of Achaea.'

Unable to compete with her friend’s lineage, Cenau’s speech was briefer. 'I am Cenau, called redhair, daughter of Edan Swordsmith, like my father, I was born in Gefrin, in the land Brynaich, which lies beyond the wall of Hadrian.'

Rhea dragged her friend's bloody hand down on to her distended belly.

'This is Aella, my daughter. She is scion of Falco Aesalon and daughter of Hannibal the brave, born in the Flavian Amphitheatre in Rome, at the end of the reign of Emperor Romulus Augustulus,' said Rhea. 'I swear that my daughter will live, and that I will do everything in my power to aid her—and my friend Cenau—to escape from this place, if you, Cenau, will swear to help me, to take this child and protect her as your own.'

'I will.'

'Will you keep the bloodstone and the talon safe for my daughter until she bleeds, until she becomes a woman? Will you accept all of this and take on this burden, this blood-vow, this geas?'

'I will,' Cenau promised.

'Will you tell my daughter that she must do the same, for the stone and talon belong to a daughter, not to a mother.'

'I will,' Cenau promised.

'Then pick up the bloodstone,' Rhea ordered. ‘Use your right hand.’

Cenau did so. It was warm to the touch, and as she watched, the deep ruby red spots on the green stone seemed to glow. When the glow faded, Cenau's hand was clean, and the cut on her palm was gone.

'The talon is small, but sharp, the bloodstone heals its wounds,' Rhea explained. 'So now, you must cut me. And afterwards, I will have much more to tell you.'

* * *

It was only four days later when Cenau, Rhea, and the baby Aella were herded out into the arena. They were three among many.

'You told me that we would escape,' Cenau told her friend resentfully as they, alongside the other prisoners, stepped, blinking, into the bright light of a sun they had not seen in months. The sand beneath their bare feet was almost too hot to walk upon.

There were more than two dozen prisoners; most were women and children, although there were also three elderly men. The Coliseum crowd roared; they were baying for witch-blood. This event was a celebration, apparently. According to their jailers the new Patrician, Odoacer, the man who had replaced Romulus Augustulus, had called for the slaughter of all evil witches and wizards as a celebration of his ascension, although unlike his predecessor he did not claim to to be Emperor. Despite this, it seemed to Cenau that Odoacer was no different to his predecessor.

Rhea watched the young Briton look around the huge arena. The walls were too high to climb, there was no escape; it was little wonder that she was terrified. Their situation certainly appeared hopeless. It was apparent from Cenau's face that the girl thought their situation was hopeless, that she was certain she was about to meet death.

Behind them, the doors through which they had been thrust into the light were now firmly closed. In the distance, at the opposite end of the vast amphitheatre, guards were preparing to open another set of doors. While Cenau stared at the distant doors and listened to the angry snarls, Rhea removed her suckling baby from her breast and pulled her tunic closed.

'I told you that _you_ would escape, Cenau. You and my little Aella,' said Rhea. 'You will be free, my friend, my sister, I have seen it. All you need to do is to follow me, and trust me.'

'How?' asked Cenau, the faintest trace of hope flickering on her face.

'You'll see! Take her, keep her, save her,' ordered Rhea as she handed the tiny newborn child to Cenau.

Rhea stared into the young Briton's face. The pale-skinned redhead was still in her teens, but over the past eighteen months they had become as close as sisters. 'Remember what I told you, Cenau. Remember your geas. Care for my little Aella. Goats' milk, or sheep’s milk, that will be best for her. You will struggle, but you will survive, and you will reach your home.'

As she stared into the younger girl's face, Rhea saw Cenau's face fall into fear and grief. The young Briton finally understood; she finally realised that although she and Aella would be leaving the arena, Rhea would not.

'Who is Weland?' asked Rhea, attempting to distract her young friend. It worked.

'Weland?' Cenau exclaimed. The girl was startled by the question, and was too busy trying to cradle the newborn to look into Rhea's tear-filled face. 'He is one of the reasons I left home. He was my father's apprentice. He's an arrogant and annoying Muggle. When did I tell you about him?'

'You didn't,' said Rhea smiling sadly. 'So, he was your past, I thought so. He will be your future, too; with your help, with what you learned from my brave Alexander, he will forge a great sword, the most famous sword the Muggle world will ever know. You will complete your circle, Cenau my sister from another land. But I will make a different journey; I will join my man beyond the veil.'

After stroking her daughter's cheek, and kissing the baby's forehead for a final time, Rhea hugged Cenau. Her tearful farewells over, Rhea turned and addressed their fellow prisoners.

'I am Rhea the Falcon, I am Rhea of the blood of Falco Aesalon, the winged wizard, the first to take an animal form. I do not have that gift, but I am Rhea Animal-talker,' she shouted as loudly as she could. 'If you want to live, follow me.'

With those words, and an urgent glance at her friend, Rhea charged towards the open gates. Between them and the gates were a starving pride of lions. The beasts had just been released into the arena, and beyond lay freedom.

'Stay close, Cenau,' Rhea ordered. 'And when you get through that door ahead of us, run as fast as you can, and don't look back.'

* * *

Gefrin, the hill of goats, was basking in warm sunshine. It was warm but not hot. Nevertheless it was enough to bring back memories of the stifling Mediterranean heat to the older of the two women sitting on the wall. She smiled sadly down at the girl by her side.

The wall on which Cenau Well-travelled—also known as Cenau Weland's-wife—sat was already over a millennium old. It had deterred invaders on many occasions, and it seemed to be a permanent part of the landscape. Cenau and her daughter were sitting on the northern side of the hill; they were looking out over the valley of the River Glen at lush green grass, goat pens, and fields of barley.

Behind the two women the haphazard collection of wooden roundhouses known as Gefrin bustled with activity. Cenau's younger children played near their father's forge. A few curious villagers watched in silence. They knew better than to bother their witch, especially when she was talking to her eldest, the tempestuous Aella. No one approached Cenau; nor did they approach the witch's daughter, who was sitting quietly at her mother's side. Everyone knew that quiet was not the girl’s natural state. It was as well to enjoy it while they could.

Sitting at the witch's side, Aella Outlander had been listening raptly to her mother's story. Aella lifted an olive-skinned hand and swept back her thick, dark hair. She shuffled sideways on the stones to face the woman she'd always thought of as her mother. As she stared into the thoughtful eyes of the woman she now knew had not, in fact, given birth to her, Aella spoke.

'What happened next, Mother?' asked Aella.

'Rhea spoke, your mother spoke, and the lions turned,' Cenau said, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. 'The animal keepers tried to close the doors, but it was too late. The lions attacked their keepers, and the gates remained open. Unfortunately, one of the guards managed to escape their claws. Rhea and I were in the lead, closest to the gates. A javelin flew....' Cenau paused, unable to prevent the tears. After wiping her cheeks with the sleeve of her kirtle, she continued. 'The guard threw a javelin, and Rhea pushed me aside. It pierced your mother's heart, Aella. When she fell, her control ended, and the lions went wild.'

Cenau paused, put her head in her hands, and wept. After more than a dozen years she finally found the moment to truly mourn her friend. At the time of her escape there had been no time for tears, but now she could freely allow them to flow. She felt her daughter's hand on her shoulder, and felt the weight of her geas lighten a little.

Lifting her head, Cenau again dried her tears on her sleeve.

'So, my beautiful Aella, you are safely passed into womanhood, and I have done everything your mother, my sister-in-magic, Rhea required of me. Through your birth-mother, you are descended from a great wizard. Though he lived more than six hundred years ago, the stories of Falco Aesalon are told across the known world. He was the first to find his inner-beast, the first to be able to transfigure himself into an animal. For him, it was a bird. Perhaps, you, too, will master that skill. I do not know, for it is a magic far beyond my skills and knowledge.

'And now you know why your name sounds so outlandish to your friends and siblings. It is because the name came from outside this land. You were named by your true mother, and not by me. Your name means whirlwind, or so Rhea told me. And it seems that she named you well.'

Cenau took her twelve-year-old daughter's hands and turned them so that they were palm-up on her knees. Reaching inside her dress, Cenau pulled out the stained and dirty pouch which dangled, suspended on a leather thong between her breasts.

'The talon and the bloodstone,' said Cenau, placing the pouch in Aella's hands. The pouch weighed next to nothing, but an immense weight was lifted from Cenau’s soul. The geas became no more than a feather weight.

Aella silently opened the pouch, and stared at the contents.

'These are yours, Aella, but they are yours for only a few years,' Cenau explained. 'In time you must give them to your own firstborn daughter. The magic of the stone and talon is ancient, and complex. And now, I must tell you of your mother's final prophecy. This is what Rhea the Falcon told me. Listen carefully to your mothers words.'

'You are my mother,' Aella stated staunchly, 'in every way but one.'

Cenau smiled, and kissed her daughter's forehead.

'Thank you, Aella,' she said. 'But you must heed your birth-mother's words, for this is the only advice she can ever give you. She gave me a fore-telling for you, and this is it. You will have children, Aella, girls, and a boy. The boy will be born two days after the twenty-fifth anniversary of your own birth, and he will be the most famous wizard this island will ever see. Your mother requires this one thing. You must name him for your ancestor, for Falco Aesalon.'

'No! I will not burden any child of mine with so outlandish a name,' said Aella firmly, shaking her head. 'Falco Aesalon,' she struggled to even pronounce the words. 'What sort of a name is that?'

'It is the name of the creature he transformed into,' Cenau told her. 'You should obey your mother, Aella. It is a prophecy, a foretelling, and it will do you no good to fight it.'

Cenau looked up into the sky, stretched out a hand, and pointed. 'See the bird? That is him. The spirit of your ancestor has chosen his moment, he is watching us. There he flies, watching and waiting. The bird soaring proudly above us is an omen, Aella. He is the very creature your ancestor became. He wants to be certain that you hear my words, and heed them.'

Aella stared up at the compact bird of prey hanging in the breeze. 'Then I shall name him for the bird,' said Aella. 'But in the language I know. I will not burden him with the foreign words you used, Mother. I will simply call him Merlin.'

As Aella spoke, the bird plummeted to earth. It returned instantly into the air in triumph, a field mouse in its beak. Alongside her daughter, Cenau felt the final feather weight of the geas fall from her shoulders.

**Author's Note:**

> According to both the Harry Potter Lexicon, and the Harry Potter wiki, Falco Aesalon appeared on a Chocolate Frog Card. An ancient Greek, he was the first recorded example of an Animagus. He could transform himself into a falcon.
> 
> Also, Falco Aesalon was the former scientific name of the European merlin, before it and the American merlin were reclassified as the same species. A latin name for a greek wizard, a name which is also the name of the most famous of British wizards. Sometimes I think JKR does these thing from sheer mischief, but I had to do something with the information.
> 
> If anyone is interested, Gefrin is a real location and the ancient Iron age hillfort atop Yeavering Bell (south of the road from Akeld to Kirknewton) still exists. That oval of atop the twin hills of Yeavering is the remains of a stone wall built more than two millennia ago. Rome, and the Coliseum are real, too. But you knew that.


End file.
